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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28124484">the sharpest lives</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessofthebugs/pseuds/princessofthebugs'>princessofthebugs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary kenma, Other, Slow Burn, bokuto is a lovable himbo as usual, kenma is gorgeous as usual, kuroo is devoted as fuck to kenma as usual</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:27:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,543</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28124484</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessofthebugs/pseuds/princessofthebugs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Kenma is the disgraceful sole heir to a Yakuza family. Kuroo is a trusted member of that family’s rival syndicate.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. a place in the dark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>girl idk i just wrote this</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kuroo groans, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms high above his head. Tipping his head to the side, he hears his neck joints pop and grimaces at the sensation that travels down his spine. He shivers momentarily, then leans forward to rest his elbows on the bar. The soju in the glass in front of him isn’t his favorite beverage, but as exhausted as he is, it’ll get the job done. Sipping slowly, he begins to observe his surroundings lazily. </p><p>The izakaya is smoky and dark, the dim yellow lighting creating a sleazy, gloomy atmosphere. There aren’t a lot of people around at 2 am on a Tuesday night, so Kuroo lets himself relax into his seat. He twists in the chair to loosen his tactical vest, wincing at the way his skin is rubbed raw underneath his black shirt. As he swings his head back around to face the bar once more, he catches sight of a lone figure occupying a table near the back of the room. She’s sitting primly on a cushion, head turned so that a sheet of blonde hair obscures his view of her face. The burgundy satin dress pooled around her legs is much too formal for the dingy izakaya. </p><p>Curiosity piqued, Kuroo turns to look directly at her. The hair concealing her face is fine, golden, and styled in an artfully messy bob that just barely touches her shoulders. Look at me, look up, turn your face, Kuroo silently begs in his head. As though she has read his mind, she suddenly tilts her head toward the bar and meets his gaze unflinchingly. He starts, reeling at the intensity of her gaze. Her eyes are a slightly darker golden than her hair, wide and emotionless. Kuroo shakes himself slightly and breaks their eye contact. After staring intently at the wooden bar for a few moments, he looks back toward her, to find that she is sipping her tea and scrolling through her phone with a solemn expression. She’s beautiful, in an untouchable sort of way.</p><p>Wiping his palms on his black trousers, Kuroo shoves away from the bar and stands. One, two, three long strides and then he is standing directly in front of her table, looking down at this mysterious stranger.  “What are you drinking?”</p><p>She glances up at him with a slight frown. “Tea.” Kuroo mentally smacks himself; it is very obvious that she is drinking tea. Resolutely, he continues, “Could I buy you another tea? Or anything else to drink?”</p><p>“I’m still drinking this one.”</p><p>“Of course, I can see that, sorry.” He lapses into silence as she continues to sip her tea and ignore him. Steeling himself, he tries again. “Um, can I sit here?” She gestures vaguely and he slides onto the cushion across from her.</p><p>“So, do you have a name?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>He blinks when she doesn’t continue. “Is your name a secret?”</p><p>“Something like that.” She maintains a stony expression, she appears entirely unimpressed by Kuroo. He’s shaken; he’s not egotistical by any means, but he knows he’s a good-looking man. It isn’t often that women are so dismissive of him. Watching her carefully, he observes the mascara flecked onto her cheeks just below her eyes. She’s been crying. “Rough night?” He asks kindly. She flutters her eyelashes at that, and finally, finally, meets his eyes. </p><p>“Something like that,” she says again. Kuroo snorts. “Is that all you can say?”</p><p>“I’m escaping a shitty party.” He raises his eyebrows. “Boy trouble?” The beautiful stranger inhales sharply, and Kuroo sees her knuckles whiten around her teacup. He rushes to apologize, “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”</p><p>“I know I don’t. Thanks for the permission.” Once again, Kuroo blinks speechlessly. Blondie is a little bit scary, he thinks to himself. Although, upon closer examination of her hair, he can see dark roots peeking out around the crown of her head. Fake blonde, he corrects himself. Lost in his assessment of her hair color, he is caught off guard when she speaks again, unprompted. “You can call me Neko.”</p><p>“Neko, as in meow, fuzzy animal with pointy ears?” He stares at her quizzically. </p><p>“Yes. Neko.” </p><p>“Alright then, Neko. Want to tell me more about this party you’ve escaped?”</p><p>“Not particularly.”</p><p>“Why bother telling me your name if you don’t intend to talk to me?”</p><p>She glances at him again, appraisingly. “I know your type. You’ll bother me until I make you think you’ve made some level of progress with me.”</p><p>“Wow, a full sentence. But I don’t appreciate being stereotyped, Neko.”</p><p>“I don’t appreciate being approached by strangers in an empty bar.” She glares pointedly at his tactical vest and the gun strapped to his belt. Kuroo leans back, considering. </p><p>“Guess I forgot my appearance might make me seem like a threat. My apologies, I just saw a beautiful woman and I had to try and talk to her.” At that, she scoffs, an uncharacteristic smirk twisting her mouth. </p><p>“You’re not as perceptive as you think…” She trails off, looking for a name. </p><p>“Kuroo,” He offers. “What makes you say that?”</p><p>She sighs and moves to stand up, grabbing her empty teacup. Gathering her dress, she steps wordlessly away from the table, leaving Kuroo confused in her wake. He watches her approach the bar, set the cup down, and then she turns to face him once more. “Not a woman.” </p><p>Kuroo reels back in surprise from the table. He stands hurriedly and takes a step toward her, looking closely at the way the satin fabric bunches at Neko’s chest. Dragging his eyes up to their face, he finds that Neko’s eyes are crinkled sardonically, mouth pursed in a defensive frown. “You’re not a man, though,” he manages, struggling to make sense of the human in front of him.</p><p>“No, not a man either.” With that, they turn, fabric swishing behind them. Plucking a long black coat from the hangers by the door, they shrug their shoulders into their outerwear and leave, all in the space of 15 seconds.</p><p>Kuroo slumps back into his earlier seat at the bar and whistles. “Who the fuck was that?” Hearing a dark laugh, he looks up to see the bartender smirking at him. “What? Have they been here before?”</p><p>“About once a month they show up, drink a single cup of tea, and leave. You’re not the first man to try and approach them, but most don’t react as well as you do once they realize there aren’t any tits on that chest.”</p><p>Kuroo hums, swirls his drink and tips it all down his throat in one swallow. “I bet. They’re still hot though, even without the tits.” The bartender raises his eyebrows, but says nothing. I still want to kiss the composure off that face, regardless of what’s in their pants, Kuroo thinks resolutely. “Hey, man. Here’s a proposition. I give you 10,000 yen and my phone number, and you text him next time they show up around here.”</p><p>The bartender stops drying the glass he’s holding to sputter, “You’re not serious. Are you some sort of stalker?”</p><p>“Nope. 10,000 yen, take it or leave it.” Kuroo leans forward to extend a wad of cash over the counter, smiling pleasantly.</p><p>“Jesus… Okay, I guess. What’s your number then?” He takes the money, tucking it into a pocket and pulling out a cellphone.</p><p>“(XXX) XXX-XXXX. Got it?”</p><p>The bartender shrugs, peering at him suspiciously. Kuroo winks, and slides his empty glass forward.</p><p>“Great. Thanks, man. You’re a lifesaver.”</p><p>Shaking his head, the bartender mutters, “Weirdo.” Kuroo just smiles and spins out of his chair, slinging his coat over his shoulder and stepping out into the cold Tokyo air. ‘Till we meet again, Neko. </p><p>***<br/>
Kenma’s teeth chatters as they stand at the corner down a few streets from the bar. They didn’t dare call a driver until they were well out of sight of the obnoxious man who could exit the izakaya at any minute. Tipping their head back, they blow a puff of warm breath into the chilled night air. I fucking hate men, Kenma thinks fiercely. They’re always creepy, always unwanted, even the ones who don’t try to break their face open once they realize Kenma’s not a girl. The man at the izakaya was no exception; Kenma didn’t want anything to do with him. He had nice arms, they think absentmindedly, and then curses under their breath once they register their traitorous thoughts. “Nope, no. Never again.” Kenma says out loud, telling themself that speaking it will make it true. That tall, dark-haired stranger may have been just a little bit charming, but Kenma knows better.</p><p>They are always, always, always all the same in the end.</p><p>Clutching their coat tighter around their shoulders, Kenma stamps their feet trying to force some blood into their toes. Tokyo in January could get brutally cold at night. They glance up at the sound of a car pulling up the narrow street toward them. Kenma steps forward, waiting for the driver to exit the vehicle and open the door for them. The car comes to a complete stop, and they watch as a tall, gray-haired man exits the front door, coming around the side to open the passenger side back door. “Hello, Lev,” Kenma says calmly, offering a slight smile at the older man.</p><p>“Good evening, Kenma-san. I expected to pick you up from Roppongi tonight.”</p><p>“I left the party. It was too crowded.” Lev smiles understandingly, gesturing for Kenma to step into the car. They duck their head, sliding onto the comfortable leather seats of the sleek black Lexus. Leaning their head against the glass of the window, Kenma sighs as they listen to Lev start the engine and pull away from the curb.</p><p>Ten minutes later, Kenma pulls their head away from the window to peer ahead of the Lexus at the mansion looming in front of them. Home sweet home, they think sarcastically. As if. This imposing, five story mammoth of a house has never been anything other than a place to sleep for Kenma. It isn’t as though there are other places they would rather be, however. Kenma doesn’t really have a home, not in the comforting, familial sense of the term.</p><p>It is just a roof. A roof that also houses the rest of the inner circle of the Nekoma crime syndicate, headed by Kenma’s father, Kozume-san. As the most feared and respected Yakuza family in all of Tokyo, the Kozume family and the rest of the Nekoma syndicate are filthy rich. Kenma never wants for anything; they have endless cash, the finest clothing, and gourmet chefs at their beck and call. Yet Kenma knows that their place in this family is tenuous.</p><p>Family is of utmost importance to all of Japanese society, but even more so to Yakuza syndicates. When Kozume-san became aware that one of the many women that frequented his bedroom was pregnant, 20 years ago, he decided to accept the illegitimate infant in hopes of priming an heir. But when Kenma was born, scrawny and sickly, Kozume-san quickly realized that his aspirations for the child would be impossible. In a fit of rage, he murdered the baby’s mother, and then fell into a black pit of depression. </p><p>Various members of the Nekoma inner circle took care of Kenma in those early years. As angry as Kozume was, he could not bring himself to kill the toddler. So the strange child lived on, and as the months passed it became increasingly clear that Kenma was about as far from an ideal son as anyone could ever be. At age 10 during an outing, Kenma made an odd declaration to their trusted driver and friend, Lev. In young Kenma’s words, “I am Kenma. That’s all. Not a girl and not a boy.” While some of Kenma’s caretakers found this amusing, Kozume-san was disgusted to hear of his son’s transgressions.</p><p>Despite Kozume’s best efforts, Kenma staunchly refused to play the part of a good, masculine boy. They kept their hair long, and dyed it blonde on their 16th birthday with the help of Lev. They insisted upon wearing baggy, loose clothes, making their bodily gender completely inscrutable to outsiders. But to Kozume-san, even more despicable than having a feminine child was the idea of having a freak child. In the summer of Kenma’s 17th year on Earth, Kozume-san called Kenma into his office.</p><p>Three years prior</p><p>“Kenma. Sit.” Kozume-san’s stony face betrayed no emotions. Kenma complied, folding their legs under them to be seated across from their distant father. “Let me begin by first making one thing clear.</p><p>“You revolt me. You have failed to meet any and all expectations that I had for you, made even worse by the fact that letting you exist was an act of mercy. You are no child of mine. I believe this much has already been made clear.” Kozume-san cleared his throat, meeting Kenma’s wide eyes without a shred of remorse. </p><p>“I want you dead, make no mistake. But it would damage the Nekoma syndicate’s reputation if you were to go missing. So I present these terms to you,” Kenma felt themself crumbling under the weight of their father’s unrelenting gaze.</p><p>“You will present and live as a woman. You are to be the beautiful, silent daughter of this family. You will have no place in this world outside of this mansion. You will be present at events when I deem it appropriate. You will stop this half-existence. You may not think yourself a boy, nor have any of the traits I wished for my son, but you must be something. I have chosen for you. You will be the pretty, soundless, useless jewel on my crown. Am I understood?”</p><p> </p><p>Voice shaking, Kenma whispered, “Yes, father.” </p><p>“Be gone. I will tell Lev when I next need you.”</p><p>With that, Kenma rose, and fled from the room. They covered their face with their hands and ran blindly through the hallways of the big, unwelcoming house, tears sliding in between their fingertips. Breathing raggedly, they did not stop until they reached their room on the third floor. After slamming the door, they collapsed onto the floor, seizing uncontrollably. Several long hours passed, as Kenma whimpered and sobbed, struck by the vicious hatred of their father. </p><p> </p><p>Finally, they rose, walking toward the full length mirror beside their wardrobe. Staring into their own eyes, red and swollen, they took a single deep breath. In that moment, they resolved to be as emotionless as their own father was as he told them he wished them dead. They brushed the tears off their cheeks, straightened their shoulders, and tipped their chin haughtily. Tentatively, they quirked their lips in a slight, coy smile. I will be beautiful, but I will never be a woman. I am Kenma. I will be Kenma, and I will be beautiful. Let him call me what he may, and let him tell others what he wishes. But I will never call myself a woman.</p><p>Present Day</p><p>Kenma sits on their bed, slipping off the black stiletto heels to rub their sore ankles. Scowling at their aching feet, they stand unsteadily, and make their painful way to the full length mirror. A pale, thin face regards them in glass; full lips, pronounced collarbones, clear, golden eyes. I am beautiful, Kenma thinks plainly. This isn’t a realization, merely a statement of fact. Kenma’s beauty is not a point of pride for them. It had been a childish dream to be attractive enough to get anything they wanted. Now, they know that beauty is meaningless. Love, happiness, comfort… Kenma would take those things over beauty any day.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. if it looks like im laughing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Kuroo learns of his assignment. (This fic will be Kuroo-centric POV, with occasional Kenma. At least that's what I'm planning right now.)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The fact that literally anyone at all read my first post made me excited enough to post again. I just love Kuroo Tetsurou a lot. Please leave a kudo or comment if you are at ALL interested in this. Thank you &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Balancing his chin on his fist, Kuroo looks at his best friend. “What do you call it when a person is neither a man or a woman?”</p><p>“Dunno. Nonbinary, I guess? I remember seeing that somewhere online.” Bokuto Koutarou replies as he runs his fingers through his gray-streaked hair in the mirror. He pauses to dip a finger in the pot of gel sitting on the bathroom counter, then resumes perfecting the ridiculous spikes that sit on his head like a crown. “Why’re you asking?”</p><p>“I met someone, last night. At a bar downtown.” Bo spins to face him. </p><p>“Oya, were they hot?” Kuroo smiles at the interested expression on his friend’s face. “Yeah, they were definitely hot. I thought they were a woman at first. But they didn’t have any tits,”</p><p>Bo gasps dramatically, “NO TITS? But that’s the softest part!” </p><p>“I know, Bo. But they were still hot, no tits and all.” He watches as the gray-haired man’s face transforms into an encouraging smile.</p><p>“Dude, if they’re hot then who gives a fuck. Nonbinary, alien, mermaid. Hot is hot.”</p><p>Kuroo snorts, reminded of why he loves Bo so much. He’s so open, completely honest with the world and with himself, and it’s the most refreshing thing ever. “You’re right. Too bad I didn’t get their name. Just some weird nickname, Neko.”</p><p>Bo raises his silver eyebrows and juts his chin forward disbelievingly, “Neko. As in meow.”</p><p>“That’s exactly what I said! Yes, like meow, I guess. It’s weird, but the first thing I thought of was Nekoma.”</p><p>“There’s no way, anyone from Nekoma would never say anything so obvious.” Kuroo tilts his head, considering. </p><p>“Yeah, probably not. But I paid the bartender to let me know if they ever show up again, so hopefully I’ll find out.”</p><p>Bo claps him on the shoulder, grinning excitedly. “That’s my boy! Always chasing after what he wants. I hope you find this mystery chick. Ah, I mean person. Mystery person.” </p><p>Kuroo laughs, leaning into his friend’s shoulder. “Me too, Bo. Now let’s get a fucking move on, your old man will be pissed if we’re late.” </p><p>Bo’s father, Bokuto-san, is the head of the Fukurodani crime syndicate. He’s a young Yakuza leader at 46, younger than any of the other heads of crime families in the city. His only son was born when Bokuto-san was only 23, and already well-established in Tokyo’s underground scene. Bo’s younger twin sisters came two years later, and they lord their younger sibling privileges over him every chance they get. They’re spoiled and gorgeous, but they’re also wicked good with knives, so Kuroo keeps a respectful distance. </p><p>Being a member of the Yakuza does not exactly lend itself to romance very well. Kuroo spends all his time out on “errands”, breaking fingers and extorting cash, et cetera. He likes to think he’s a good guy deep down, but aside from the occasional casual fuck in bar bathrooms, he’s yet to go an actual date in all of his twenty-three years of life. He and Bo are inseparable, the Buzz Lightyear to Kuroo’s Woody, and they’re just immature enough to find their alternative lifestyle exciting. So his lack of romantic prospects doesn’t really bother him.</p><p>But sometimes, say, when he meets a stunning, mysterious stranger, he finds himself wondering what it might be like to come home to someone other than Bo. Someone with warm eyes, who might let him touch their ribcage gently and call him “Tetsurou”, instead of messy hands and a nameless face in a back alley. He never lets himself get very far with these fantasies, reminding himself that love is weakness, and he can’t put anyone in that position. Bo is different, being his boss’s son. Their platonic love is safe, and it’s enough. It has to be.</p><p>Kuroo shakes himself out of his reverie, focusing himself on Bokuto-san’s words. He’s been talking for a few minutes, already, and Kuroo would be concerned about missing something important if he and Bo weren’t partnered on every single assignment. Bo always pays attention, hanging onto his father’s every word, eager to please his biggest inspiration. Kuroo looks over to his friend, and sure enough, he’s concentrating carefully, nodding along to Bokuto-san’s pronouncements, and he’s even taking notes. No problem there.</p><p>Still, he tells himself, tighten up. Pay attention, this could be an important job. “...absolutely essential to the future of Fukurodani that this goes well,” Bokuto-san is saying. Well, there you go. Important. “Kuroo, Bo. I am trusting you with this. The twins will be ready to come in as backup, but I’d prefer this to be quick and quiet. In and out. Got it?”</p><p>“Of course, Oto-san.” Bo is nodding seriously, face grave. Kuroo gives a cocky thumbs-up, hoping his confidence will hide the fact that he really has no idea what the assignment is. Bo will tell him later, it’ll be fine.</p><p>Back in their shared room, Kuroo is listening as Bo explains what they have to do. “Okay, so. You know how my dad wants to start getting involved in the meth trade?” </p><p>Kuroo hums affirmatively, thinking briefly about how insane his life is that that sentence is unsurprising to him. Bo continues, “ But Nekoma has a complete monopoly over the business, since like, 1980. If we just tried to jump right in, they’d notice, and they’d be pissed.”</p><p>“Naturally.”</p><p>“So we’re supposed to get leverage over them, to guarantee they’ll leave us alone.”</p><p>“What sort of leverage.”</p><p>“Er. We’re gonna kidnap Kozume-san’s kid.”</p><p>Kuroo nearly falls over, spluttering. “KIDNAP THE KOZUME HEIR.”</p><p>Bo bares his teeth in what could be considered a comforting smile, but looks more like a grimace. “I guess there’s some party that Kozume-san usually attends, but he’s missing it this year because of some arms deal in Hokkaido. So the kid will be there, with bodyguards of course, but no Daddy-o. I know it sounds a little crazy, but it’s the perfect opportunity. And Oto-san says that there’s absolutely no other way to secure our place in the methamphetamine business. If we don’t have something over Nekoma, it’ll be bad.” </p><p>“Why are we even bothering with meth in the first fucking place! This sounds like way more trouble than it’s worth.”</p><p>Looking down, Bo twists his fingers in the hem of his shirt. “We’re, uh, running a little low on money right now. Things have been bad this winter. I don’t know much, since Akaashi is in charge of finances and he doesn’t tell me shit, but I’ve heard stuff.”</p><p>Kuroo stares at his friend. He seems serious, and Bo’s seriousness is something that is reserved for situations that are, well, very serious. “Okay, Bo.” He sighs. “Whatever the boss says.”</p><p>Bo glances up at him, smiling softly. “Kuroo, we’ll be fine. We’ve gotten through some crazy shit together. How much trouble can this kid be? The punk’s only, what, like 20? Younger than us, and probably a skinny little twig. It’ll be fine.”</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, it’ll be fine.”</p><p>***</p><p>A month later finds Kuroo sitting on his bed, scrolling mindlessly through Twitter while Bo showers. He’s singing Taylor Swift terribly at the top of his lungs, and Kuroo is about ten seconds away from going in there just to flush the toilet to make the water burn him so he shuts the fuck up. “BO! You sound like a cat in heat, please for the love of -” He cuts off as his phone dings, an unknown number popping up at the top of his screen. Who the fuck, he thinks. Swiping down on the notification, he reads the text quietly out loud. “Hey, Neko is back here. I’d say you’ve got about an hour.”</p><p>His eyes shoot wide open as the gears in his brain click into place. “Holy SHIT. Bo! BO!” The shower shuts off, and a dripping wet naked Bo nearly falls flat on his face on the carpet as he rushes out of the bathroom. “What? What happened? Who died?”</p><p>“No one. Remember the hot person I told you about? Neko? From the bar?”</p><p> </p><p>Bo furrows his brow, searching to remember. His face clears, as he says “Oh yeah. No-tits-but-still-hot Neko.” </p><p>“That’s the one. The bartender from the izakaya where I met them just texted me that they’re back.”</p><p>“Dude you gotta go! Get some clothes on!”</p><p>Kuroo looks down at what he’s wearing, a white t-shirt and black skinny jeans. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” When he lifts his eyes again, Bo is already going through his closet, bare butt sticking out. Kuroo covers his face with his hands, mourning the fact that this is his life. “Bo. Bo, move. I can dress myself.”</p><p>“You need to look hot!”</p><p>“Fine, just-” Kuroo shoves him aside, wincing at the skin-to-skin contact. Bo may be his best friend, but he’s a little comfortable in his body. In his nude body, specifically. He grabs a leather jacket and Doc Martens from his closet. Shoving his arms into the sleeves of the jacket and grabbing his wallet, he makes to leave. “Good luck, buddy.” Bo is grinning enthusiastically at him. Ah well, Kuroo thinks, he is a good friend, even if he spends too much time being naked.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. spent the night dancing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>kenma and kuroo meet again!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>omg im so bad at writing like this ;-; im a whole ass college student and when i read this back it sounds like something a seventh grader would write. ah well its all self indulgence anyway :~)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kenma notices when the izakaya door opens, but doesn’t look up. They sigh, sticking a pinky into their cup of tea and wincing when it’s just barely too hot to touch. Perfect drinking temperature, though. Sipping slowly, Kenma feels themself relaxing just a tiny bit as the warm liquid hits their tongue. It is just what they need after once again escaping Roppongi. That fucking district. Kenma hopes it burns to the ground, taking all the shimmering lights, too-loud music and sleazy men with it. </p><p>Fingering the strap of their dress, Kenma idly thinks that tonight’s ensemble was one of the better ones they’d ever stuck their skinny body into. It’s a mid-length, lacy cocktail number, in a red much brighter than the burgundy satin they had worn to last month’s party. Everyone tells Kenma they look fantastic in red, and although Kenma knows that they’re right, something about the color has always felt a bit too garish to them. Still, they wear the reds, simply because they don’t care enough to make a fuss about it. </p><p>Legs folded up underneath their slight body, Kenma shifts slightly, tipping another sip of tea into their throat. At the sound of a throat clearing, they look up with a slight scowl of annoyance. It’s literally impossible to have a second to myself even outside of Roppongi, they think wearily. But when their eyes meet the imposing figure’s familiar gaze, Kenma’s breath catches in their throat. “Neko,” He exclaims softly, giving Kenma a gentle smile. </p><p>“Ah. It’s you again.” Kuroo laughs at that, hand coming up to rub self-consciously at his messy black hair. “Yeah, I suppose it is. Don’t look too sad to see me, you’ll hurt my feelings.”</p><p>“Certainly wouldn’t want to do that.” Kenma fixes him with a blank expression. “What do you want?”</p><p>“To see you.”</p><p>“How did you know I was here?”</p><p>“Er, well. I may have. Asked the bartender to let me know next time you showed up?” Kuroo’s voice turns up at the end of his sentence, making it sound more like a question. He grimaces slightly, preparing for Neko’s disgusted reaction. Sure enough, when he looks down, his reluctant companion is staring at him as though he’s just grown a second head out of his shoulder. “Why did you do that.” Kenma’s voice is just the perfect tone of deadpan, and they’re glad that they’re able to hide the slight pleasure they feel at the man’s words. </p><p>“Because like I said, I just wanted to see you.”</p><p>“Why.”</p><p>“Because you’re interesting, and. Well. You’re very attractive.” Kenma purses their lips, and Kuroo makes note of the new expression. “You don’t know anything about me,” Kenma replies, “And I believe I made it clear last time that I’m not interested in you.”</p><p>Kuroo bites his lip and turns a bit red, and Kenma absolutely does not track the way his teeth catch his skin. Not even a little. “You did. But you haven’t even given me a chance!”</p><p>“I don’t want to give you a chance.”</p><p>“Neko. Just let me sit with you a little while. I won’t try anything.” Kenma glances sideways at the dark-haired man. They lean back slightly, and set their cup down on the table. “Fine.” </p><p>It seems to register with Kuroo just then exactly what Kenma is wearing. Kenma feels his eyes on their skin, dancing across their collarbones and down lower to where the red lace conceals the rest of their body. Flushing slightly under the attention despite themself, Kenma crosses their arms defensively across their chest. Kuroo’s eyes snap back up at that, and he shakes his head slightly. “You look nice. Escaping a party again?”</p><p> </p><p>“I was at a club in Roppongi.”</p><p>“Ah, makes sense.” Kuroo clears his throat again, somehow nervous despite this being the second time he’s ever interacted with Neko. “You weren’t having fun?”</p><p>“No, I don’t like loud noises. Or crowded places. And I don’t dance.”</p><p>Gaping at them, Kuroo asks, “Then why on Earth were you there in the first place?”</p><p>“Wasn’t my choice.”</p><p>“Someone forced you to go?” Kenma smoothes their dress down, wondering why they’re even engaging with this strange man at all. Nonetheless, they respond, “My father. He’s… a CEO. He likes me to go to his business parties because his clients flirt with me and he gets more business.” Kuroo’s face twists up, and he thinks to himself, what kind of a father basically pimps out their own kid like that, and begins to feel sorry for Neko. “That’s kind of gross, Neko. He sounds like a piece of work.”</p><p>Kenma giggles, and then claps their hand over the mouth as if surprised by the sound. Smiling slightly, Kuroo says nothing more, but is secretly thrilled to have elicited a rare reaction. “Um. Yes. He is a selfish man.” Kuroo nods understandingly, and offers, “I never knew my father. My best friend’s family took me in, and his dad is my boss now. So I get the whole daddy issues thing.”</p><p>“I don’t have ‘daddy issues’.” Kenma’s face is challenging, and Kuroo coughs slightly. “Ah, of course not. I just meant that I know what it’s like to have a complicated family.”</p><p>Kenma allows him the slightest quirk of their lips, but inside, screams, why the FUCK am I talking to him? Kuroo continues, “Bo’s dad is great, though. Bo’s my best friend. Been tight since we were in diapers. It’s become sort of a brotherly thing since I work for his family.”</p><p>“That’s nice.” Despite Kenma’s looks and experience tolerating flirting from older men, they truly don’t know how to hold a conversation with someone their own age. Besides Lev, they don’t really have any friends. Feeling awkward, Kenma interjects, “What sort of work do you do at their company?”</p><p>Suddenly, Kuroo’s face seems to get pinched. “You could say we run a business. What about your dad? CEO of what?”</p><p>“You could say he runs a business.” Kuroo barks out a laugh, surprised out of his discomfort. Kenma’s face grows warm, and they feel their inner monologue starting to rise in volume. Stop talking to this random man! Stop telling him things! Kenma, what is wrong with you, they chastise themself. Just get up and walk away. </p><p>But Kenma’s legs won’t seem to obey, so they remain seated (un)comfortably across from Kuroo. Starting again, Kuroo asks, “Are you a student?”</p><p>“I take online classes.” Yeah, right. Kenma gave up on higher education a long time ago, figuring they’d either be killed or go crazy before they ever got a chance to use a secondary degree. Feeling satisfied with the lie, Kenma decides to pose a bold question. “Does it bother you that I’m nonbinary?”</p><p>“So that is what it’s called! Bo was right. I’ll have to tell him, he’ll be proud of himself.” Kuroo grins openly at them, completely unaware of the inner turmoil he is causing Kenma. Why the fuck is he talking to his friends about me, and their inner voice is starting to sound a bit hysterical.</p><p>“Why did you ask him about that.” They’re not sure they want to hear the answer. </p><p>“Because I thought you were so beautiful, but I didn’t understand what you meant at first by not being a woman or a man.” He places an elbow on the table, resting his cheek against his palm. “Think. Think you’re so beautiful,” he adds after a moment. Kenma scowls, begging their traitorous cheeks not to turn red. It’s about the millionth time they’ve heard the compliment, but it seems to have a new effect coming from Kuroo.</p><p>“Thank you, although you won’t impress me with flattery.” </p><p> </p><p>“You’re blushing. But I’ll take your word for it. How can I impress you then?”</p><p>Kenma curses inwardly. Wow, he’s perseverant, isn’t he, they think frustratedly. “You can’t. I think it’s time for me to go home.” Kuroo stands up quickly, the table making a scraping noise as he jostles it. “Can I walk you home?”</p><p>Kenma just stares at him. Who does he think he is, Prince Charming? “I have a driver. So no.”</p><p>“I’ll walk you to your car then.” </p><p>“If you must.”</p><p>“I insist.”</p>
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